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Ficlet: Grounds

Last week on b7friday it was proverbs, sayings, and figures of speech, straight or mangled. Set before the series, but spoilers for up till Rumours of Death in season three. 200 words.

Grounds

When Anna came in, Chesku was exactly where he always was: in his armchair with his feet on the coffee table, reading a newspad. She fought the desire to kick his feet off and went to the drinks cabinet.

"Hard day, dear?" Chesku asked without taking his eyes off his pad.

"Can you tell?" Anna poured herself a large whiskey and sat down on the couch. Marrying him had seemed a good move: he was high up in the government and had a luxury apartment--much better than an undercover security agent could ever aspire to--and in return for having her arm tucked under his at functions as a trophy wife, she could do as she liked.

"You shouldn't get so involved in your work." Chesku yawned, scrolling through headlines.

Anna narrowed her eyes and downed half her whisky. Kerr Avon had started as an enjoyable challenge; why did she always have this odd feeling of... regret afterwards.

"You know what I always say, dear." Chesku finally looked up, his face so smug she wanted to throw her drink in it.